Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ We Didn't Start The Fire ❯ Learning To Stand ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning since the world's been turning.

We didn't start the fire.

No, we didn't light it but we tried to fight it.

- - - - - - - - - -

You feel like a candle in a hurricane,

Just like a person with a broken frame.

Alone and helpless,

Like you've lost your fight,

But you'll be all right.

You'll be all right.

Dean had the taxi driver take him to the nearest motel as fast as possible. If the driver noticed his panic, he didn't say anything about it, which was a good thing because Dean probably wouldn't have been able to handle it if he had.

The cab pulled up in the lot of Motel 6 in scarcely five minutes, but Dean barely managed to sit still even that long. He jumped out, shoved a ten into the cabby's hand, barked a quick “keep the change” and hurried inside as quickly as his injuries allowed.

Within another few minutes, Dean had a room, and as soon as he limped inside, he went directly to the phone and the book under it.

He spent the next minutes writing down the addresses of every warehouse in the city, his nose buried in the phonebook and, alternately, a large road map of the area.

He came up with thirty-eight different locations, scattered everywhere. And to find Sam he'd have to search every one…if Sam was even still there.

There wasn't enough time!

Dean felt his despair rising as he set the book aside and studied the map, every once in a while rubbing at his chest in irritation.

There's no way I can get to all these places quick enough…he thought, angrily sketching out a route to each building. But narrowing them down seemed just as impossible, if not more so.

To his shame, he felt his eyes brimming, and he furiously brushed a hand across them. And for a moment, that seemed to work. But as he went back to his thoughts, a tear fell. It was followed by another, and within seconds there was an unstoppable flood of them, along with a stream of thoughts—chiefly of Sam and…his father.

No, no, no, don't think about that…God, don't think about that…

But though he managed to block out the thoughts for now—it actually wasn't that hard, considering how very unreal it all seemed—stopping the flood of tears was, for some reason, much more difficult.

Dean hadn't cried in years—not really. He'd come close the night he'd been reunited with John, but even then nothing had been brave enough to escape. The last time he could remember really crying he had been twelve and had his first broken arm during a hunt, and even that hadn't lasted more than a few minutes.

But now, suddenly, he was sitting here in this crappy little two-person motel room, at the tiny table, head buried in his hands, his entire body heaving with sobs, and it seemed like it would never stop.

`Cause when push comes to shove,

You taste what you're made of.

You might bend `til you break

`Cause it's all you can take.

On your knees you look up,

Decide you've had enough.

You get mad, you get strong,

Wipe your hands, shake it off.

Then you stand.

By the time Dean ran dry, his eyes and through burned and his chest ached and he felt more exhausted than he had in a lone time, and he certainly didn't feel any better than before, but at least he had gotten that out of the way.

Sighing heavily, and swallowing to try and bring some moisture back into his throat, Dean sat up straighter in his chair, and resigned himself to a long, long search.

He was just lifting the phone to call another cab when the headache hit him.

It was worse than any other headache he had ever experienced—it felt quite capable of splitting his skull wide open. And with the pain came…a picture?

It was sort of like the dreams in the hospital, but…also different. For one thing, the pain didn't diminish, and for another, he had been confused during his dreams, but now, he somehow knew the meaning of what was going on.

He felt that he wasn't…Dean anymore. Well, that wasn't strictly true—deep inside, he knew he was still himself. But he felt like someone else—a very frightened someone else. He felt his heart thumping in his chest and he felt frozen in fear.

Without any control whatsoever, he felt his mind flitting back through the same things from his dreams, only now he remembered them from a first-person point of view. Luckily, it wasn't long before he came back to the present, and found himself looking around, details leaping out at him as he did.

There was a quiet—but somehow deliberate—sound behind him then, and his heart jumped into his throat as he whirled around…

And just as suddenly as they had come, the pictures faded, the pain began to lessen, and Dean was very much himself again, and thinking one thing: he'd just had one of Sam's visions.

That was the only possibility. It was an insane possibility, but it was still the only one. He'd had one of Sam's visions, which was just weird.

But that paled before the thought that jumped into his head next.

He had a location. Somehow, someway, the vision had given him that knowledge.

Hands shaking, Dean grabbed the phone and began to dial.

Life's like a novel

With the end ripped out,

The edge of a canyon

With only one way down.

Take what you're given before it's gone.

Start holding on, keep holding on.

Sam stood as if stuck, staring at the source of the small sound—whom he recognized immediately—and trying to sort out exactly how he'd ended up in this position.

The being standing before him seemed, at first sight, to be a man. He was tall, almost a head taller than Sam, and every movement bespoke poise and an almost catlike grace. With pale, pale skin and delicate limbs, he was almost…pretty.

But then he stepped into the light fully, and Sam got a good look into his eyes. And as good-looking as the rest of him was, those eyes just looked…wrong. For one thing, they were a disturbing yellow-orange, and the pupils were vertical and narrow, like a bizarre, twisted mix between a snake and a cat.

Sam felt a chill go down his spine as the creature looked at him—and looked, and looked, and looked, without so much as a blink. Finally, to distract himself more than anything, Sam tore his gaze from the countenance to look around the place.

It seemed to be the inside of a warehouse—a very lived-in warehouse. Well, that much checked out with the pictures rushing through his mind. Sam felt a familiar stab of discomfort at the thought—he did not want the memories to check out, because that might mean that they were something other than dreams.

Which might mean that Dad and Dean…

“You woke quickly.”

Sam's eyes snapped quickly back to the demon, and saw with no small amount of discomfort that the yellow eyes had not moved away from him. Trying to gather his wits, Sam opened his mouth to speak, only to close it quickly as he realized that he could think of nothing to say.

“I have to admit that I set your sleep to be much longer than that.” But the demon did not seem perturbed by this—merely a bit more interested than he had seemed in the—what? Dreams? Visions? Or…memories, as horrible as the thought was?

“But then, perhaps that was to be expected, and I was simply remiss for not thinking of it,” the demon mused thoughtfully. Sam just stared at him in a mixture of confusion and fear. “Well?” the creature asked, raising a long-fingered hand to brush his bangs back. “I can see that you have questions. Please, ask them.”

Sam's confusion increased. Here he was, standing in this old warehouse, and all evidence pointed to him being a prisoner. And yet, he was unbound, unhurt, and being invited to ask any questions he had.

It just didn't add up.

But he had no desire to try leaving. He had no doubt that the demon could stop him easily—there had to be a reason that he was free to move around, after all. So his only choice was to stall for time, until…well, he had no idea what he was hoping for, but maybe something would happen soon.

Until then, he would just try hard to keep calm.

Still, his voice shook slightly, despite his attempts. “Did you…cause our accident?”

“Of course,” the demon replied without missing a beat, as if this were the simplest question Sam could have asked. “How else was I to get you here?”

Sam had expected it, but for some reason, the words hurt. “Dad and Dean…?”

The demon waved a hand dismissively. “They are of no consequence to me. They could still be alive. I honestly couldn't tell you.”

Well, it was better than he'd expected—he could at least disregard that particular memory as just that.

“How long have I been here?”

“Six days.”

The swift replied unnerved Sam—it was as if he already knew the questions, but was waiting for Sam to ask them in a bizarre emulation of politeness.

“Where are we, exactly?”

The demon was obviously not bothered by the idea of Sam knowing where they were. “In a warehouse in the middle of Salvation. You were brought here after the accident, for safekeeping.”

The fact that he was being made to sound like cargo was the last thing on Sam's mind at the moment.

“What did you mean when you said you `set my sleep'?”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “I meant exactly that. When you came here, you were unconscious. You should have remained so for little more than a few hours, but that didn't fit my needs. So I deepened your sleep so that it would last for many days instead.”

“And…why did you need to do that?” Sam asked, almost fearing the answer.

“Well, of course, in order to dream you must be in a deep sleep. And it was very necessary that you would dream.”

“So all of that…it wasn't real?” Sam asked, already daring at relief.

The demon shrugged. “It's all relative, isn't it? Real, illusionary…what does it matter?”

Sam didn't know where he got the guts—right now he was more frightened than he could ever remember being—but he threw a glare at the entity. “You said you would answer.”

A sigh. “Remember, Sam, that this is a courtesy. I could have left you in the dark, but I decided to answer your questions. That doesn't mean you should push me.”

Sam kept his gaze level for as long as he could, but it wasn't long before he had to drop it. What was it about this guy that made him so…pathetic?

“Yes, it was all an illusion,” the demon went on, and the exaggerated kindness in his voice made Sam actually flinch. “But at the same time, it was real. It was showing you what will happen should you come to your senses and join me.”

Sam snorted derisively before he could stop himself. “So that's why I'm here. We've come back to this.”

“So it would seem. But only because I wanted to give my proposal properly. The first time, I was rather…preoccupied.”

“Yeah, with ripping out my brother's rib cage!” Sam said but his anger did not strengthen him. In fact, he felt his energy draining as the feeling mounted.

“That was only necessary.”

“That still leaves the question of why the hell I would join you. You nearly killed my family!”

“Why does that even matter?” the demon asked, real emotion coloring his voice for the first time. But the next time he spoke, he had adopted a smooth, silky, calming tone. “Sam, think about it. What have those two ever really done for you?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, ready to say something, anything, to defend his family. But he was swiftly and effectively cut off.

“Think about it. All that they've ever done, everything they've told you was for the common good—can't you see that it was all for them? Them and their petty revenge?”

The voice got even more soothing, and though Sam wanted nothing more than to cover his ears, it was as if the words, the voice, were bespelled, and he kept listening.

“They've done nothing but hurt you. Your father never let you do anything normal, and because of that you didn't have any friends your entire childhood. He wasn't even going to let you go to college—he threw you out of the house, and it was only then that you felt you should. Then Dean came and dragged you away, and that weekend you lost the only woman you ever loved.”

Sam kept listening, and as the speech went on, he could himself having to block out thoughts of how much sense some of this made.

“They've always hidden things from you—for your entire life they've had secrets. And I know you've felt it, if you refuse to say so. But if you will remember your dreams, you will realize that I have been nothing but upfront with you. Everything I told you in the dream was completely true, and I withheld nothing then as I am withholding nothing now. And I'll do you one better—I will swear that should you join me, I'll continue to share with you—my secrets, and my power.”

Sam felt himself becoming strangely lulled by the soft, lilting voice. When had it started sounding like music…?

“Think about how wonderful it could be, Sam. Remember how it was in your dreams, when you didn't have to feel? It really could be that way—no thought, no consequence—only power. The power to protect yourself from any more loss. The power to stop being so angry all the time. The power to free yourself.”

Sam didn't care about the turn to motivational speaking this conversation had taken. In fact, he didn't particularly care about anything at the moment. The voice was so relaxing…

“And as difficult as it may be to believe, I don't want to hurt you. In fact, that's the opposite of what I want. I want to take care of you. And on top of that, I need you, like your father and your brother never have.”

The voice dropped into a near-whisper, and Sam felt himself beginning to actually fall asleep on his feet.

“Sam, say you will join me. Let me help you.”

Sam was so tired…so tired of feeling…so tired of life…

He can make it end…

“Join me, Sam. I know it's what we both want.”

Well…why not? It's not as if he's completely wrong…

He opened his mouth to agree.

SAM!

The voice rang out in his head, and he felt a deep pang of shock. Dean…?

Yes, you idiot. And I can't even believe you just thought what you thought!

How are you…?

I have no idea. Just shut up and listen to me. You're about to cross a serious line here, and I swear to God, if you do, I will beat you down myself.

But Dean…

No, listen. This thing cannot help you, no matter what it says. It's not human, it has no compassion, and all it wants is to kill. And it wants to use you for that. But you can't let it. If you do, you'll end up killing me.

I would never…

You think that now. But just trust me. That thing could make you not care. At all.

That's impossible, though!

It's already got you seriously considering joining it…the thing that killed Mom and Jessica! Getting you to kill us would be just another step. The voice in Sam's head took on a pleading note now. I'm coming for you. Don't you give up now, Sammy. Not after what we've been through.HeHe

Looking back, Sam would always think it was the old nickname that did it. In a split second, everything shifted yet again.

The demon was till looking at him, waiting calmly for his reply. Sam faced him, and for a moment he was filled to the brim with uncertainty. But just as suddenly it was gone, and Sam's mind was absolutely calm. He knew a clarity that he had never before seen, and he had a bone-deep understanding of exactly what to do.

Swiftly, he severed the strange connection with Dean, with no warning but a simple “goodbye.”

`Cause when push comes to shove,

You taste what you're made of.

You might bend `til you break

`Cause it's all you can take.

On your knees you look up,

Decide you've had enough.

You get mad, you get strong,

Wipe your hands, shake it off.

Then you stand.

Dean had no idea how he'd ended up linked with his brother. He had felt something from the moment he'd woken in the hospital, but he hadn't even noticed it until the vision. And he hadn't been able to identify it until this very moment.

He had had another vision during the five-minute cab ride, and he finally realized that they came from Sam's point of view. This time he found himself conversing with the demon that had killed his mother, and learning some appalling things. He felt himself being lulled into complacency, and then he felt himself about to agree with the demon's proposal.

A thrill of alarm caused him to jump back into his own mind, and without really thinking about it he'd screamed Sam's name in his head. He didn't know what he'd expected, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam replied, sounding just as shocked.

Their conversation had lasted for the remainder of the ride, but then Sam had unceremoniously cut him off and he was left to sit there in a panic until the cabby pulled up to the warehouse, still looking baffled as to why he was there.

Dean jumped out before the car stopped completely, tossed some cash into the driver's lap, and raced inside, wincing with each step.

He took in the scene the instant he got in, closing the door softly behind him and ducking behind a stack of crates, more out of reflex than anything else. Sam was facing the demon, whose back was to Dean, his stance casual but wary. Dean recognized that stance—it meant that the fight was about to begin.

The thought spurred Dean into action, and he stepped out from behind the crates, ignoring the fact that he was unarmed and nearly incapacitated.

“Are we at the fun part yet?” he asked, feigning cheer.

Both Sam and the demon turned quickly as he took two steps forward, heading to stand next to his brother. The demon raised his hand, undoubtedly to strike and end him quickly, but Sam beat him to it, and Dean found himself frozen in place.

It was the strangest feeling—he could still see and hear everything that was going on, but he couldn't move or influence events in any way. And the worst part of it was that there was no doubt that Sam had done this to him.

Why…?

Then he looked into Sam's eyes, and he would have yelled it he'd been able to make a sound.

His brother's eyes were jet-black, and absolutely empty, the pupils filling up the whites until they were nearly gone.

What the hell…?

The demon smirked. “Sam, I thought you didn't want to—”

Sam waved his other hand, the demon was hurled to the far wall mid-sentence, and Dean's confusion grew by leaps and bounds.

Whatever Sam had done, the demon recovered quickly, and was soon on his feet, looking unruffled but very disappointed. “This is your decision, then.”

Sam gave no indication that he'd heard—just jerked his head and sent the demon flying again, one of his hands still holding Dean in place.

Once again, the demon leapt up easily, but this time his face blazed angrily, before his expression stilled.

“All right,” he said softly. “If that's the way you want it.”

Sam was the next one to go flying, and Dean felt a jolt of fear. It turned out to be a groundless fear, though, because Sam jumped up again, unhurt, and dove back in.

Dean felt like he was watching a very violent tennis match—back and forth, one strike for another, Sam first and then the demon. In due time, both of them had actually been injured, if only slightly, but they were still unarmed, neither were going for the kill, both seemed to be tiring, and Dean thought they were still pretty evenly matched.

He had a sudden vision of standing here watching this fight for days, and then of all of them dropping dead at the same time, but of boredom rather than injury.

He would have laughed if he hadn't wanted to scream so badly…

At last, at long last, the demon murmured, “I grow bored now, Sam.”

Sam didn't reply—his silence throughout the whole thing had been just plain creepy—but his jaw clenched and for just a second his eyes held a flicker of emotion.

Their next attacks met in mid-air, and Dean could have sworn that he actually saw the energies clash.

Sam grunted and took a step back as if from a physical blow, and the demon smirked. But then the younger Winchester regained his footing, and fought back.

To someone who was just looking on, it would have seemed that Sam and the demon were just standing there, staring at each other, but Dean, nearby, could actually feel the swelling energy, almost strong enough to make his very bones shake. And yet he knew that this was only a fraction of the shattering power that Sam was not only feeling, but commanding.

Sam began to shake, visibly, and once again came the flash of returned humanity swiftly quelled. He kept sliding back on the floor, but each time he pressed forward determinedly, refusing to back off.

The power in the air began to crest, and Sam began to lose his strength. His knees buckled, and he started to fall, his power breaking…

Dean still couldn't say a word, and he couldn't break his invisible bonds—and even if he could, he somehow knew that if he got any closer to the fight than this, the combined powers in the air would crush him instantly—but there was one way he could help.

Without another thought, he grabbed onto the tremulous psychic connection between himself and his brother, and bolstered Sam's strength with all of his own.

The power strengthened. Held. Grew.

The next seconds were a blur—a blur ending with the demon pinned to the wall as Mary Winchester had been punned to her ceiling so long ago. Then Sam's hand jerked, and there was a deep, long slash across the demon's stomach. Another gesture, and there was a second slice across his chest, so deep that a rib protruded.

Dean felt sick.

The demon gasped, and quivered, and lost. His gaze went, not to Sa, but to Dean, and the older Winchester saw accusation there. But before he could figure it out, the demon murmured a few words in a language Dean didn't recognize, though somehow Sam seemed to. And then he was gone, and there was no indication that he'd ever been there.

Whatever was holding Dean in place disappeared as Sam began to fall.

Every time you get up

And get back in the race

One more small piece of you

Starts to fall into place.

Sam snapped suddenly back to himself, and it felt as if he had been away from his own body for a very long time. Now that his work was done, the power that had flared inside him was gone as if it had never been, and he was as weak as a kitten. For a moment, he teetered on his feet, and then his legs folded. He let himself fall, with no will left even to keep his own head from smashing into the hard concrete floor.

But he never hit.

Dean caught him.

Dean always caught him.

XXX

Dena's first thought when he caught his brother was that Sam had lost weight.

A lot of weight.

Which had been something he'd needed to gain, not lose.

But the thought vanished as he lowered himself and his brother carefully to the ground, Sam sprawled awkwardly across his lap, and Sam looked up at him with normal, lucid eyes. He looked more exhausted than Dean had ever seen him, but he was Sam Winchester again.

He tried to get Sam off his lap and into a more comfortable position, but the younger man grabbed at his jacket and held on, murmuring something that sounded like, “You caught me…”

“Uh…yeah,” Dean said, feeling stupid but nevertheless wrapping his arms around his brother in an authentic Dean Winchester Bear Hug. “Well, I figured the last thing you needed today was a concussion, so…”

“Caught me…you always catch me…”

Dean began to feel uneasy. “Are you okay, little brother?”

Sam's fists tightened so that his knuckles turned white. “Sorry I stopped you…”

“Would you please try to start making sense?” Dean asked, throat constricted with suppressed fear for his brother's sanity.

“I thought…you and…it was all gone…I thought…but it wasn't.” The next words were crystal-clear, a jarring, rational note in the midst of half-insane babble. “Are you all right?”

Dean forced his features into something resembling a smile. “I'm fine, Sammy.”

Sam seemed to loosen up a little, and he sagged heavily against Dean. But then the inevitable next question came, and Dean's heart plummeted.

“And…Dad?”

`Cause when push comes to shove,

You taste what you're made of.

You might bend `til you break

`Cause it's all you can take.

On your knees you look up,

Decide you've had enough.

You get mad, you get strong,

Wipe your hands, shake it off.

Then you stand.

- - - - - - - - - -

We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning since the world's been turning.

We didn't start the fire,

But when we are gone

It will still burn on and on and on and on…

- - - - - - - - - -

AN: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I blame the long wait on back-to-school madness! It's not my fault, I promise!!!

Well, anyway, there's only the epilogue left to go now…

Review, please!